


end.

by kinpika



Series: signed, sealed, delivered [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Attempt at writing a duel, F/M, Meeting again just before Death Eaters Happen, Quidditch World Cup, Summer of '94
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: Until the spells stop. The last one he deflects, catches, square in the chest. And Charlie almost forgets to breathe, as he realises just why it did so. Natasha stands, squarely above their foe, one hand holding her stomach, and the other still balled into a fist. Charlie quickly put all the pieces together, and came to one odd, but mildly satisfying, conclusion.“Youpunchedhim?”





	end.

**Author's Note:**

> Something written that takes place during the Quidditch World Cup. Couldn’t quite spiral a whole thing, so a few snippets, around 900 words each I think.

Arriving at the site was no great issue, in the grand scheme of things. Bill finds their tent in no time, setting his stuff down with little fuss, just as Charlie had too. Percy’s bag also meets the ground, only a fraction more gentle, and he’s off, fussing about how he had to greet so and so before too much time had passed. And that was it, wasn’t it? he says aside, only for Charlie to rumble about something. 

Bill doesn’t quite hear him, and there’s a remark from Fred about spending too much time with dragons. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied by the absolute force for a human being coming towards him, Bill might’ve laughed. Except he grins, broadly, arms already out to meet Natasha.

Warm and solid in his arms, Natasha doesn’t let go, but neither does Bill. Last time they had seen each other had been in Cairo, up on a balcony and drowning the last dredges of wine as victory over another vault. But he’d heard things, that she’d been moved up and about, away. Far, far away.

“Fancy meeting you here!” She beams as she speaks, and Bill would even go so far as to suggest she was tearing up. That was fine, he was too.

“You know me, big Quidditch fan,” he jokes, partway true. 

Natasha laughs, and he had honestly missed the sound of his best friend. “Bill, you’re _awful_ at the sport.”

“But I’ve always been a brilliant supporter.”

There’s a roll of her eyes, an ‘uh huh okay’ that doesn’t crack the smiles. If it hadn’t been for the clearing of a throat, Bill might not have let her go just yet. Settles for an arm around her shoulders, still holding her against him. She wiggles her fingers at the twins, which they return with a certain amount of amusement, before she sets her eyes on Charlie.

Awkwardly standing at the flap of the tent, Bill wanted to kick him into gear. Even after all this time, Charlie still danced around his relationship with Natasha — although he would admit that she did just as much dancing too. They were as bad as each other, but after hearing Natasha confess what she did, Bill knew that it was only a matter of time. Perhaps she realised too, with how she seemed to look at him out the corner of his eye. 

“Hey, Charlie.” 

Bill has to resist rolling his eyes at how Natasha talks. Trying to be all cool and smokey, indifferent and attractive. That voice was used to hit up more than one person, Bill knew. Time for him to turn his annoyances on Natasha instead.

Charlie finally steps out the safety of the tent, hands shoved in pockets. Oh, no, here came his attempt to return what she was throwing. “Nat, hey, when’d you get here?”

Actively fighting the urge to gag, Bill lets go of Natasha. Nope, he was out. Did not enjoy the idea of spending something like the Quidditch World Cup watching his little brother and best friend _attempt_ to flirt. He’d spent their entire schooling lives experiencing that train wreck, and he wasn’t about to relive it now. 

With a not so subtle nudge either, Natasha ends up a few steps closer to Charlie. And Bill leaves them, finding a spot on the ground beside his brothers and Arthur, watching the scene unfold before them. It involved some hair flicking on Natasha’s behalf and Charlie making the most obnoxiously starry eyed expression Bill had ever seen.

“Five sickles says Natasha makes the first move after the game,” George offers, just as whatever the two lovebirds were talking about involved Natasha putting a hand on the newest burn Charlie had on his arm.

Fred snorts, and bless him, seems to have more faith in Charlie than all of them. “Five for Charlie, after the first three goals.”

At that comment, Bill has to throw in his own worth. “Five, Natasha makes the first move, Charlie finishes when the snitch is caught.” And if Bill knew _anything_ about Charlie, and just how much of a sickening romantic he could be, there might even be an exchange of commentary between the two about Slytherin taking home the Cup, and Natasha kissing him in front of the entire school. Cup under one arm, the front of Charlie’s uniform in her free hand, and Bill was sure that Natasha even managed to scrounge up a photo of the event. This was all assuming of course, that Charlie was still floundering over thinking Natasha didn’t mean it. 

That was during their last year, Bill recalled. Charlie was red in the face the entire summer when he came home, and Natasha was the one who wrote the letter about it. Idiots, the both of them.

After another pause, there was a grumble from Arthur. Another five sickles landed in the pile formed between the four of them, and sighs. “Five that we’re going to have to put up with this all night, as we have been for six years.”

Bill laughs at the comment, loudly and agrees wholeheartedly. 

* * *

Charlie is honestly beside himself. Not an understatement in the slightest, especially when Natasha smiles at him the way she does, eyes heavy lidded, fingers twirling the ends of her hair, and mouth pulled up all crooked and adorable. Makes his stomach flop like it did when he was sixteen, and Charlie knows he should wipe his palms, but if he unfolded his arms, it was all over.

A mixed blessing in seeing Ron and Ginny return, friends in tow. Brings a whole new round of conversation in from the other side of their campsite, considering that it had begun to cool off. Idle curiosity he can see in Ron, when Natasha turns. More that Charlie thought about it, he realised that Ron probably didn’t remember Natasha very well, or at all. Ginny even less so. 

Clearing his throat, and noticing how they edge closer, Charlie attempts the introductions. “Ron, Ginny, you remember Natasha? We went to school together.”

Ginny, bless her, scoffs and nudges Charlie out the way. An ‘as if I would _forget_!’ leaves his sister, even as she goes for a firm handshake. Natasha was more than amused, clearly, with how she returns. A comment about being unable to forget such a witch was thrown in too, which had Ginny puff up with a certain amount of pride. 

And Ron, seeming to catch up, scrambles to introduce Harry and Hermione. There’s a test there, Charlie knows, when Natasha goes to shake Harry’s hand. But she’s gentle, forward. Charlie notices she doesn’t stare at the scar, but keeps her eyes firmly on Harry’s. “Pleasure to meet you, Harry. You as well, Hermione. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Maybe it threw all three of them off, with how Hermione stammers out a response next. “Oh, you have?”

Natasha nods and smiles, easily. Smoothly. “A couple of my cousins attend Hogwarts still. One of them — Caroline, she’s in Gryffindor too — speaks about you all the time over the holidays.”

Charlie doesn’t even know why he was concerned, with how she ultimately wins them over. Finally, he unfolds his arms, hands finding his pockets, and doesn’t stop himself from watching how Natasha speaks. A few stories thrown in about their time at Hogwarts vault hunting, with a wink sent Charlie’s way in regards to the Forest. 

Bill chimes in with enthusiasm at that point, as if to remind everyone in the vicinity that in between everything, he too was breaking curses. Long before Gringotts, might he add, when he brings up that Charlie didn’t join them until his _fourth_ year, the scoundrel. It’s then that Natasha intercepts, a comment about how Charlie was the only one comfortable with getting in and out of the Forest, and well, it leads to some squabbling. Still a sore point, apparently, for Natasha, that Bill opted out of flying into the Forbidden Forest at the last minute. 

With a clearing of his throat, Arthur finally speaks. As if to remind all his children present that whilst he was vaguely aware of their activities at Hogwarts, their mother would not be so thrilled to learn of something like this. Effectively ends the conversation, much to even Charlie’s disappointment, as he was quite happy taking a walk down memory lane then. Reminiscing about fourth year, even third, trying to drain Bill of any and all information of Natasha.

Nothing had really changed, he notes, when he watches how she engages Hermione once again. Something about positions in the Ministry, work with MACUSA. Even a throwaway comment about Quidditch, one that Ginny seems to latch onto. Of course, at that, she does seem to finally speak to Harry directly, singularly.

“Heard that it was because of you, Slytherin finally came second.” And there’s no malicious intent, only a well meaning smile. “Flint needed a good smack around the head. Never wanted him as captain, but didn’t have much of a say in the end.”

“ _You_ were captain?” Charlie can’t pinpoint where the comment came from exactly, but Natasha actually does look mildly offended by that.

There’s that tone she’s using, where she was more than a little disappointed. “And a damn good one, _thank you_.” Oh, yep, she was.

Charlie, surprising even himself, puts his a hand on Natasha’s shoulder then, giving her a little shake. “Nat took captaincy in sixth year, after what’s his face — Bourne? — was injured. Fell off his broom during try outs.”

Natasha sniffs, as if she was playing innocent. “Tragic really. Developed quite the fear of heights after that.”

But Charlie knew. Or suspected. Whilst no one had ultimately determined just what happened to the Slytherin Quidditch team in ’89, there was a great reshuffling not long after Bourne passed captaincy over. Whilst they were always quite a mountain of a team anyway, once Natasha got a hold, well. Undefeated wasn’t anything to be taken lightly. 

The side eye Natasha gets at the lingering suspicions really did suggest she was the outnumbered party, but it didn’t faze her. No, she just shrugs, like that was the be all and end all of that particular conversation, and goes to fish something out of her jacket. Small purse, from the looks of things, and Charlie only catches the briefest glimpse of what it could particularly be that she was showing to the crowd around them. And he can feel his face burn once he realises.

Proudly, and perhaps a little smugly, Natasha shows a photograph, of the last time Slytherin won the Cup. Moving, and Charlie wants the ground to swallow him, with how he knows that it captured the moment she pulled him in for a kiss. A _whoop_ leaves Fred, or George, or both, and even Ginny gets a little bug-eyed, looking between the two of them.

Natasha only grins, rather proud of herself, and pats Charlie on the cheek. “Good year of Quidditch, wasn’t it?” 

Charlie could only groan.

* * *

It was supposed to be an easy enough time away. Escort the younger family through the game, get them back to the tent, and see them off to the station in a few days. But Natasha’s feet can’t keep up with her, voice hoarse from screaming, as she pushes through the trees. Only taken her eyes off the tent for a second, too caught up in other things, before she knew what was happening. Before _anyone_ knew what was happening.

“Caroline?! Malachy?! _Alcide!?!_ ” The light from the end of her wand didn’t fade, if anything grew just a fraction stronger, when her voice rose once more.

Stay together, she had told them. Don’t leave each other. And of course, they went off. Natasha couldn’t blame them, not when fear was griping at her too. Chanting could be heard, even through the trees, and smoke was still in her nose. 

Had to find them. Had to keep moving. 

Natasha hits the ground, more than once, when she pushes through. Other side of the campsite, just a fraction less trampled than where she had been. Squinting through the orange glow, she could still see plenty of people moving. Not that she wanted to imagine what a two twelve year olds and a ten year old were doing, or how they got this far (or what might’ve happened in the time she pauses), Natasha pushes towards the damage.

Wand raised, careful with her footsteps. Remainders of tents, memorabilia and belongings were laying about. Natasha can’t stop her left hand from shaking as she keeps on. Didn’t want to lose anyone again, especially not so soon. If she hadn’t been with Charlie, caught up in the celebrations for Ireland. If she hadn’t been some stupid teenager all over again, swooning at every second. If Natasha had just done the job right, she wouldn’t be out here right now. 

Another thought goes to the others, Aleksander and Jason especially, with the hopes they had the youngest under control. Just supposed to be fun for the younger ones, before school goes back. Natasha can feel the tears press at her then. She only wanted to give them some normalcy, after everything their family had been through. 

Something moves at the corner of her right eye, and Natasha was too caught up in watching to not trip, she damn near screams when a person appears. With her squeak of “Charlie?!”, the tears finally bubble over then, all the tension in her finally snapping, and Natasha would admit that she threw herself at him. 

Natasha forgot just how broad he was, sometimes. Hands rub at her back, trying to soothe her, and she has to stop herself from talking, from letting the fear get the better of her. Charlie talks over her head, and she recognises the second voice as Bill. He appears in her peripherals then, a sorry sort of smile on his face. “Hey, Nat.”

“ _Bill_.” 

Charlie relinquishes her then, and Bill was just as engulfing as Charlie, except all bony and flashy leather. Natasha watches as Charlie does a quick sweep of the perimeter, appearing once more when he was sure they were alone. 

“What were you doing, Natasha? Haven’t you seen what was going on?!” And Charlie. Well, Natasha could feel the tears again, just with how his voice seemed to break. The genuine concern was making her upset all over again. 

“Trying to find,” she hiccups, trying to catch her breath. “Shit. Trying to find. Caroline, Alcide and—and Malachy. Weren’t at the tent.” So hard to talk, when she just wanted to calm down. But there wasn’t enough air going in, and she could see the looks on their faces when words finally get out.

“By yourself?” Bill, for his part, at least seemed to let his disappointment not completely coat his tone. But Natasha could feel it, with how his arms just seemed to squeeze her a little tighter.

“Alek and Jason watching the others. Had to be me.”

After another full minute, Natasha finally pulls away. Rubs at her eyes with her sleeve, trying to get herself into shape. Needed to find her cousins, and get them all back to the family home in one piece. Oh, her mother and all her aunts would be fretting. Nothing like this would be allowed again.

“Natasha? Are you listening?” Charlie shakes her, just a little, and Natasha blinks. Alert. 

“What, sorry?” 

“Bill said he’ll go back the way we came, try to find everyone. I’ll go with you.”

Admittedly, that stumps her a little. “You don’t have to.” Natasha doesn’t think when she says those words, already stepping the direction of the worst of it. “This is my responsibility.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Bill is rough when he speaks, quickly stepping in front of her. “Charlie will go with you. _Help_ you.”

Shaking her head, Natasha tries to start off in the direction she was originally heading in. “I can do this myself.”

But Charlie catches her by the arm, pulling her back. Natasha couldn’t actually think of time when she’d seen him like this. A few passing looks, maybe, but there was something on his face that she seriously didn’t know how to take. “I don’t care if you can, Natasha. You go out there and get stuck, facing people like that… it’ll be you who winds up dead.”

“You don’t know that.”

Natasha seems something, in the corner of Charlie’s eye. Something she might’ve been ignoring, or never realised, about him. There was an anger there, swallowed up in fear and hurt. Not quite the easy going character he had been in school, no, not at all. Charlie’s hand, whilst firm, slipped down to her own, a tight squeeze. The fire seemed to die away as he leads on. Bill says something, about seeing them back at the tent, and Natasha can’t find the words to respond, anyway.

* * *

Charlie doesn’t stop her from throwing herself in front of the children. Better yet, _can’t_ stop her. Natasha had always been a tricky one, and a little bit quicker than him, but the protection charm had barely formed when she was taking the full brunt of a hex.

It’s when she’s doubled over, that Charlie finds the next best thing was to pelt their attacker with debris, while there was a few screams of ‘ _auntie!_ ’ filling the air. Doesn’t know what the hex was, not sure if he had time to find out. A grunt leaves him, as the flick of his wrist was a second shy of leaving his shirt intact. A slash forms, thin on his skin, clear across his chest.

In the glowing orange light, the Death Eater’s mask glimmered. Haunting, finding himself toe to toe with this kind of person. One who turned their attention from Charlie, back to Natasha. Not even a second glance, and Natasha ducks, throwing herself to the side. A crate blasts wide open, wood shattering and flying over the kids who screamed again. 

Bill was always the better dueller. He and Natasha could go for hours, and their scores were so tightly bound, that every week it was always the other coming out on top. Charlie was only good for secret keeping and advice, and when his papers were ready. Just the thought made his hand sweaty, grip on his wand not quite right. With a shout, _petrificous totalus,_ Charlie aims the spell as best he could. Barely misses his target, shooting right through their cape.

But he had their attention now. Whips of red fire from the tips of their wands, deflecting and attacking. Charlie tried not to think, not to focus on how there was a strain at the corner of his mind, as he continued to fire just as many spells back as he shielded. Only duelled Natasha a handful of times, really. Always ended with him dangling by his ankles in the air. Never could get quite a grasp on some of the spells she threw his way.

There’s no time to break, and his arm hurts, legs slowly moving them in a circle. Charlie doesn’t see anything but the blurred sparks, and only hears the whizzing of another curse flying by his ear. At this rate, he just might lose an ear, or both. 

Until the spells stop. The last one he deflects, catches, square in the chest. And Charlie almost forgets to breathe, as he realises just why it did so. Natasha stands, squarely above their foe, one hand holding her stomach, and the other still balled into a fist. Charlie quickly put all the pieces together, and came to one odd, but mildly satisfying, conclusion.

“You _punched_ him?”

“Never saw it coming.” She’s heaving in air, but there’s no mistaking the pride in her voice. Charlie can see the blossoming of bruises already along the exposed skin of her neckline. 

He’s walking towards their attacker, wand at the ready. Hand reaching out, ready to expose this Death Eater, still living a life while so many others suffered. Charlie can’t help but think of his uncles, his first wand, and anger has him shaking. 

Doesn’t hear Natasha’s yell, and wakes to find himself staring at the sky.

Three sets of eyes are on him, wide and afraid. Charlie groans, hand going to the back of his head. No bump. Tries to push himself up, only to be held down once more. Finally sees Natasha, carefully weaving warm light over the torn skin of his chest, eyes not moving off of the cut. Once sealed, as if the skin had never been broken, Natasha finally looks up. No words spill from her, except tears. Arms are thrown around his neck, and Charlie finds himself returning the embrace. Finding her lips, and kissing her terribly.

* * *

They find their way back to the tents, path forward far clearer than it had been earlier. Natasha has her arms around her family, holding them close, much like they all gripped at each other. It’s her family they find first, and Charlie recognises Aleksander from their year, who throws himself across to catch one of the boys in a tight hug. Too much talk, that Charlie quietly tries his best to ignore. Give the family some space, as more tears are shed, some harsh words about wandering off. Some praises for finding their way home. 

Stepping aside, Charlie was surprised to find Natasha at his shoulder not a moment later. And she’s watery, tired, covered in a good amount of soot and ash, with some debris still caught in her hair. Charlie cups her face, hands practically swallowing her cheeks, and tries to hold her steady. 

Natasha sniffs, but she’s all out of tears. The stress had burnt her out, and she was barely operating on fumes. But the way Charlie holds her, looks at her so tender, gives her just a little bit of energy. Enough to hold a hand on his chest, where the cut had once sat, and give her best attempt at a smile.

“Thank you.”

There was more to be said, but she couldn’t find the words. Didn’t know how to convey just what she felt, really, as there had been too much. Far too much. Up and down, with feelings and emotions. Gripping fear over her family, which almost selfishly turned to the burning terror when Charlie had hit the ground. And earlier still, was the rush of sheer joy and happiness, only hours before, experiencing the World Cup. 

Even she couldn’t deal with this sort of stuff. Charlie looks the same way, with fatigue pulling his face down. Only the corners of his mouth pick up, maybe something in the way of a smile too. 

“Go to your family. I’m good now.”

“Alright.” And it’s all Charlie could muster, really. He ached in a way that a simple flick of _episky_ wouldn’t heal. Deep seated kind of wound, which was absolute in the way it drained him. Later, much later, maybe he would get his mother just to double check that nothing was lingering from the duel with the Death Eater — although he wasn’t sure if he should mention that part specifically, either.

As he walks off, one last press of lips as a good bye, Charlie shoves his hands back in his pockets. Their tents weren’t so far apart after all, from what he could judge. But he barely makes it past the next tent, what might have been a brilliant blue, before Natasha calls: 

“Love you, Charlie,” she says, crystal clear, with a backwards glance the only thing to follow.

Charlie smiles to himself and continues on. “Love you, too.”


End file.
